Wolf down the crab thing.
"I had vague feeling of having a really great time, so that pretty much confirms it. Ægir would probably remember details if he stayed to the end, I recall asking him to watch over the contest. Hmm, gotta ask him later. Who was my drinking opponent? I think I might been hallucinating through the whole thing."
"Huh, Igor..."
Briefly check if people in my mental Asgard vacation resort are wasted and if they watched what happened.
You crack the shell right open and munch on the wealth of organs held within, each structure having gone slightly off in its own special way. It's part of the charm, the lamplighter explains, much like the smell or the faintly unsettling consistency. It's a great hangover cure, you find, in that it adequately confuses your mild nausea with its unclear position on the spectrum of unsafe foods.
Swallowing a particularly chunky bite of crab, you continue your breakfast conversation. The lamplighter has chosen to slather some whitish, heterogenous substance onto a set of fungal crackers that she sets about nibbling. She seems a little surprised by your question, though with how many shrooms you were on it shouldn't be too unexpected. She was the one! You're among the first to ever outdrink her among the Moths, and the other two died of liver failure and falling into a pit (presumably followed by liver failure) respectively. So technically you're the clan champion now.
Huh, you say. She looks a lot less demonic now, although from the way her shape and movement races into your eyes with a striking profundity leads you to believe that the mushrooms may have started to kick in again. You ruminate on what may be a fermented crab stomach as you look her over. Still got a pretty good rack, you offer after a moment. Good to have confirmation on that, she laughs. You tell her to hang on for a second, gotta check something.
... turns out yeah, the Norse gods in your mind being completely wasted was a very safe assumption to make. They litter the strange reformed earth, some face-down, some on their sides, some on their backs, many of them in piles similar to all of the drunken moths.
[A Night To Remember: 5]
Actually, you notice,
exactly in piles like all of the drunken moths, with paths leading between them similarly to the tunnels you went through. Many of them in places you don't recall visiting, mapping places you must have arrived in, but for the life of you can't remember. The world of the gods seems to imitate the world of men and women to a detail that surely couldn't be conscious.
Iðunn comes into your view, seemingly amused by the debauchery on display. She offers you an apple from her basket, and you ask her if she observed the happenings while you were back in the mortal world. She didn't. Plenty of fun to be had up here, after all. They'll be waking up soon, however - run along now, and she'll get back to her gathering.
You snap back, the goddess' amused expression giving way to the sight of the lamplighter looking at you impassively. Consulting those gods of yours again? Your face went all funny there for a second. You did rant a lot about them in the night, she remembers that much. Some Igor person and a lot of other names too.
"Excellent! Glad that is settled, then." Thomas nodded encouragingly. "Let's go!"
Toward Elizabeth!
And you do indeed go! You follow the man's lead, unsure where exactly Elizabeth might be. He leads you a little deeper into the woods, making sure to try and obscure any trail he leaves (otherwise the bears will find him, he says, greedy blighters that they are), and you wind up at something that may have been a clearing before the forest grew right over it, saplings and other young trees having sprouted right out of it, bracken filling out the space between them.
A few faces poke out from between the trees. Six, to be exact, the youngest of them barely a teenage girl with a face covered in equal parts old scars and dried up berry juice arranged into appropriately childlike drawings, the eldest of them a man still a little younger than your own companion. Elders, the cheery fellow tells them, it's all right! He's found an all right sort out by the path, he indicates you. Knows a lot about things like statistics and such!
The girl steps out from behind a tree. You notice she's using a walking stick, but not because she needs it. She is followed by the oldest of the number, a fellow with a bushy dark beard and not a single hair on his head, wild-eyed and immediately suspicious. And a third - a young woman with cold eyes who appears to have been experimenting with camouflage rather recently from the quantity of mud and leaves on her. They all cautiously proceed toward you, and immediately adopt an imperious tone.
You there, they start to shout before all looking startled at each other and quietly agreeing that less volume is a good idea. Ahem, you there, the girl begins. You stand before the council of elders, the man whispers a warning! Why has Silver brought you here, and what are you prepared to do to attain refuge among the Rabbits, the woman asks impassively?
Well, the man presumably called Silver begins, but the girl shoots him a withering glare. Silver, where are the berries? He provides them. Were there any effects, she asks, poking at him with the stick. Not yet, Silver shrugs in response. Best wait it out, the girl says. Go over there and don't move, she indicates a nearby tree. When it starts to hurt or rumble, tell the others at some point. He complies sheepishly and heads over to the nearest sapling, where he stands with his hands behind his back, occasionally glancing at you and smiling politely.
Right, the bearded man whispers sharply, you're about to be subject to the ritual initiation! Yeah, the woman says, you'll have prove your worth and what have you before you can join the clan. Them's the procedures what you do, she repeats a little less confidently.
"Hmm right okay. Minder tricks though, I remember those being tricksy. Please hold, and don't touch me."
Sink back down into my internal mind/fortress-monastery thing with my abomination kung fu disciples. Warn them to be on the lookout for minder tricks and/or probes entering my mindscape in the near future, and ask them to terminate said links with an appropriate amount of viciousness if they do locate any.
Assuming I manage to get back into my mindscape successfully, of course.
Your mental mountain monastery has changed very little at first glance, still the perfect image of a place you'd got to for inner enlightenment. It does occur to you, however, that it has been some time since last you saw it. And as you go up its steps, the faint glistening of the walls and the pulse of the mountain below make you feel like there has been something of a change here.
[The Findings: 3]
The First Brother meets you at the top of the steps, the least deformed of his lot. His teeth are rounded and rare, his eyes bulging slightly from long meditation. You ask him of what he has discovered, and he responds in guttural tones. The best way to gain mastery of mind and reality is to seek out masters, unwitting or not. Work with them or defeat them, and you will have obtained their power, or shown that you do not need it.
Is that all, you ask him. Seems a little bit underwhelming as far as insights go. The First Brother recoils dramatically as if stung by the words, but regains composure quickly. There is also another thing, he drags out in a tone of suggestion. You have planted a soul in your secret garden. It has secrets. They could be extracted, at the soul's expense. A long time was spent watching it, helpless in the void. The disciples would like to sink their teeth into it. Many ideas have arisen on that front.
[Defilers in the Sanctum: 5]
You
also recall you told them to keep intruders out of this fortress that is your mind. The First Brother looks quite nervous at this. The minder, yes. She took the form of the wind, and searched for secrets. The disciples did not see her at first, the ruse was excellently done and the influence on the fortress was minimal.
When she left, some
plans were formulated. Some more complicated than others. The wind is difficult to hear, even in a place such as this. Could you assist, master, with some exquisite silence? The wind will be easily found, caught and strangled then if you so wish.
"Yes, I think I've had some experience of that myself. What exactly are those things in the fens?"
Obtain information on local hazards. The dead marshes themselves, plagues of insects etc.
You'd have to be more specific, the alderman says. Many things out there, you see! Hardly anyone's counted the sheer variety. Very well, start with the clawing things in that case - the things at the bottom of the bog.
The alderman rumbles gently. The bog, he says, it often has no real bottom! Especially further in. Many things fall into it, many more are drawn toward it! The Kingdom of the Dead has a great number of arrivals, mostly in the bog itself. The majority of them sink, of course, presumably forever. A few start to swim - very few make it, and these are the citizenry of the Kingdom. A rather large number get unfortunately close as well. Their spirit is extremely admirable, of course, but they do come off as a little unfriendly to anybody, say, falling into the bog by accident. You'll grab onto anything to provide some buoyancy, you know how it is! Or at least a much-needed dose of reality to stave off the abyss, as it were. Often not enough of that to go around, as it happens. Every now and then the higher-ups send out some trawlers to drag out the most promising sorts, they're handy to have about. Usually the ones who swim up are good for civil service positions, he growls a little proudly, and the trawled ones are more fit for menial roles. Less initiative, you see.
And the insects, you inquire. Oh, the alderman claps his hands together thunderously, you've seen them? Were they coming in the direction of the road? Thing's been sadly broken for years, he's heard. You tell him briefly of what you have seen - aha, he says, glad to hear the rituals seem to have worked, though sad it came at such inconvenience to you! They'll have the road fixed in no time. The insects do come in every now and then, you see, mostly in great incursions to make off with a bit of prime flesh to lay eggs in. Appreciable! And handy, if you can kill the buggers and put the spare chitin to good use. Not a lot of material going around otherwise apart from a drifting castle or something like that, and those tend to be fairly rare as you'd imagine!
Aha, you say. And if you were to travel further, is there anything you ought to beware of? The alderman thinks a moment. Whales, he'd suppose - some get very much enraged with time. Those that don't get recruited, of course - some are a little too angry to make for good subjects, and do not take rejection very well. Luckily the hunters do split most of them into more manageable chunks, though not without some difficulty. Been a while since one was last seen here, the alderman mentions, hopefully the good fortune will last!
Well... it's been a while since I've eaten. I take a large bite of the fungusy stuff. After I've swallowed them, I speak to Oggie again. "Thank you for the food. Did you say the exit was around here somewhere?"
It's cold, damp and tasteless at first, which tricks you into taking about three bites before it begins to wiggle, tickling your esophagus a little bit before settling in your stomach, where it starts to thrash of its own accord. A crawling sensation spreads through you, and the sudden feeling of expanding heat that's followed by a pronounced coldness. It takes some getting used to, but doesn't appear to be in any way actively harmful, merely considerably unpleasant.
[Realizations of Cave Cuisine: 1]
The retching and miscellaneous terrible noises coming from the doctor as she ill-advisedly had some as well would indicate that not all would share your experience. There is a sound as a pair of large hands close around her waist and a very possibly rib-cracking Heimlich-esque maneuver is applied. It sends a few chunks flying into the dark, splattering into the wall rather noisily and then apparently crawling away into silence. The doctor breathes heavily, hanging on to your waist as she tries to get her bearings. She still feels them, she says, some of them are still in there, oh god.
Good, good, Oggie says. You ask about the exit a little hurriedly - oh, exit. Exit is around here, blocked some time ago. Come here, she says from the darkness, and you follow along, the doctor not so much following as being dragged along. You brush up gently against Oggie as she indicates what to your touch seems like a lot of boulders stacked up together. Exit. Blocked. Could unblock in time. Days? Weeks, maybe?
Leif Erikson, Miner and Lush
- Half-basket of apple-like mushrooms
- Paper party crown (worn)
- Moth-robe (worn)
- Itchy Woolen Britches (worn)
- A Word: INEVITABLE
- A Word: APOCALYPSE
- A Word: DRINK
- Body Count: 228
- Mead of Poetry (4 shining revelations remaining)
- Enders' Friend: The Grave of Red Clouds Parting
- Inscribed Wooden Stylus
- Iron spear
- 1.03 gp
- The Box: ?
- Induced Lucidity: A Map of Things Real and Imagined
- Compatibility: Minding
- Tricks of the Mind: Perception, Memory
- Tricks of the Mind: Engagement, Negation, Abstraction, Prestige
- Tricks of the Mind: the Self, the Other
- Gods of the Underground: Did You Just What
- A Visit From The Stork: Is What You Yes
- The Voracious Dark: Two Deals Made
- The Voracious Dark: The Promised Sixth
- Moth's Flight: Honorary Clansman
- The Miracle of Life: Wayward Rabbit
Eileen Minett, Vinyl Collector
- Distilled alcohol (in flask)
- Spirits of salt (in clay jar)
- Soaps of elk, bear, bat and snake
- 4 flasks of lamp oil
- Oil lamp (lit)
- Linen stoat shirt (worn)
- Stoat trousers (worn)
- Comfy slippers (worn)
- Never-made scimitar (blackened, slightly dull)
- Tooth-handled hunting knife
- Black leather boots
- An assemblage of amber and amethysts
- Silver thread-necklace
- Onyx spiral earrings
- 2 oaken rings
- Rusty, bloodstained knife
- A Word: HUNGER
- A Word: SYNTHESIS
- A Weapon: Explosive Cysts
- Grenade Jumping: A Solid Technique
- The Good Doctor: Secret Histories
- Sword of the Sand People: Cleaning Supplies
- Sword of the Sand People: The Services of a Minder
- Higher Tonight: There And Back Again
- The Gods of the Underground: A Welcome Guest
Jack Daniels, Karate Man
- Red and gold vest and breeches combo (worn)
- Leather boots (worn)
- Rubber mattress (filled with water)
- 14033 gp (in sack)
- Poor Unfortunate Soul: Forever Captive
- The Queen's Guard: Actual Asset
- Powers of the Beyond: Gardener of Thoughts
- Garden of Thoughts: the Stoat-Magistrate
- Dusty Wooden Speaking-Trumpet
- Crossbow Bolt (in throat)
- A Word: REND
- A Word: SILENCE
- A Weapon: Murder-Thought
- Uncoupled: Strength
- Wooden Door
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: Run Like Hell
- Induced Lucidity: A Garden Well-Tended
- Elongated Affairs: Enemy of the New State
- A Place In History: Vastly Unreliable
- 2 rats, crushed
- 1 rat, strangled
- 1 rat, live
- Travels In The Fourth Dimension: Sunday ± 2 Days
- Doomstones: So High Up But Such A Bitter View
- The Majordomo: A Great Divide Between Us Now
- The Voracious Dark: Decreasing Demand
- The Voracious Dark: More Specific Requests
- The Vault of Heavens: The Captain's Quarters
- Body Count: 3
Thomas Minstep, Insurance Agent
- A Word: ABSENCE
- A Word: GOODBYE
- A Word: WORM
- A Weapon: The Sword They Fear
- Make A Man Out Of You: Battle-Tested
- The Grip of Tharn: Clearly A Man Who Knows What's Up
- Ranging fork
- 2 feet of sinew-thread
- Tooth-needle
- A Bowl, Black and Knobby
- Tight Leather Pants (worn)
- Incredibly Tight Blue Dress (worn, mutilated, mildly provocative)
- Travels In The Fourth Dimension: Sunday, July 25th, 409 S.D.
- The Queen's Guard: A Reward Well Earned
- The New Queen: Lasting Gratitude
- Lonely Roads: Walk Away
- The Box: Absolutely Delightful
- Body Count: 2
Oscar Wilde, Chemistry Teacher
- A Word: REVELATION
- The Wicked King's Missive On Economic Reform (in massive silver scroll case)
- Wounds: 1
- Traces of Mischief: Glowing Facial Rift
- The Serpent's Egg: Dissemination
- Body Count: 4
- Cornerstone Helm (worn, collecting light)
- Time-ender's measure (wrapped, processing? stopping?)
- 10 m of rope
- Half a candle
- 1 rat, skinless and smoked
- 6 gp
- Poor Misshapen Dice
- Lock of Hair (unidentified)
- Iron nail, unused
- An Inauspicious Key
- Burlap Foot Wrappings (worn)
- Burlap Hand Wrappings (worn)
- Moth-Eaten Hat (worn)
- Respectable Brown Skirt (worn)
- Old Brown Waistcoat (worn)
- Bright Yellow Tunic (worn)
- A Wealth of Burlap Ribbons
- The Winding Path of Inspiration: The Less Dangerous Friend
Author
Topic: Our Salvation: It Is Written (Read 264156 times)